


I've Tasted Blood

by shellfishDimes



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Hair-pulling, M/M, Multi, Power Play, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3930550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellfishDimes/pseuds/shellfishDimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This has been going on for too long, Ajay," says Amita. "We have to hit Pagan while he's weak. And we can't do that while <i>we're</i> weak. As long as we are like this, we are weak."</p><p>"The elephant can't have two heads, brother," says Sabal. Amita throws him an angry glare over Ajay's shoulder, but, surprisingly, doesn't argue.</p><p>"You want me to choose?" says Ajay. "Okay. I choose both."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Tasted Blood

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [far cry 4 kink meme](http://farcry4-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/436.html?thread=9908#cmt9908). title is from [lahu munh lag gaya](http://youtu.be/s0JJlIX5YdM?t=7s) (I've tasted blood).

Ajay is cutting down a plant with red leaves when his radio beeps. High above him, an eagle cries out. He ducks under a tree because he's all too familiar with the aggressive Kyrati wildlife. The connection crackles to life with static, which melts into Pagan Min's half-mocking, amused tones. Just asking after his _favourite_ nephew, Pagan says, and Ajay doesn't even want to consider what happened to the less favoured ones.

He leans his head against the tree, trying to spot the eagle and letting Pagan talk. As impossible at it may seem, Pagan does sometimes get bored of the sound of his voice, and he'll go away once he realises there's no hope of Ajay engaging him. 

And then, the phrases _Amita's honey pot_ and _Sabal's flowing locks and bad-boy jawline_ catch Ajay's attention. Pagan declaims them like he's reading them off the back of a truck stop romance novel. _That's your lifestyle choice to make,_ he says in an off-hand way, and Ajay snorts with laughter, caught off guard. 

A shriek makes him look up in time to see the huge, angry eagle bearing down on him. Ajay throws an arm up to fend it off, dropping the radio in the process, and the rest of Pagan's monologue gets drowned out in Ajay's own panicked yelling as the eagle goes right for the eyes.

  


* * *

  


Every time that they're together, and regardless of the shape Ajay is in – jacket torn, a bloody bandage around his forearm to cover up the bullet wound, reeking of sweat and gunpowder – Sabal's hand is there to squeeze Ajay's shoulder, his upper arm. Sabal's fingers are there to run down the fabric of Ajay's jacket and catch on his elbow, pulling him closer as he lets him know about the next mission, about the next outpost he wants Ajay to claim for the Golden Path. His eyes are soft when he praises Ajay for the great work he's doing by hijacking Pagan's radio signal, when he talks about Ajay's father and how proud he would have been of him, _son of Mohan. Brother._

At the start, Amita rarely comes within an arm's reach of him. She's careful, guarded, wears her puffy vest like armour. It takes her a long time to stop seeing him as an annoying tourist, just another added complication to her fight. It's only when she wants him to do something for her that she crosses into Ajay's personal space. Amita never gets too close, the way Sabal does, but there's something in her voice that nevertheless makes Ajay focus his entire attention on her. Ajay believe she's capable of moving mountains, of wearing them down to rubble with the passion in her eyes alone.

The words _stand with us, Ajay_ come back to him when he looks through the scope of his sniper rifle. He holds his breath to aim. He remembers her saying _I'm hoping you will be the one to do the right thing,_ and he squeezes the trigger.

  


* * *

  


Before she sends him off to capture the brick factory, he wants to kiss Amita. It's the most open, the most sincere she's ever been with him, and Ajay wants to show her that she can count on his support in this, especially after she'd been so disappointed in him for setting the poppy fields on fire. There's a fleeting moment when she stands close to him, leaning against the cracked, mustardseed wall, when he can just reach out and touch her and _hug_ her. Ajay's hand almost reaches out, but then Amita snaps out of it and her walls are up again, as if they never even went away.

(When the fumes in the factory make his senses spin, Ajay thinks about the light from the setting sun on Amita's face, the strength in her voice, and keeps fighting.)

With Sabal, it starts much earlier. It starts after the avalanche, even though it really, really shouldn't. It starts when Sabal helps him scramble out of the snow, and they collapse next to each other, shoulders bumping, and Sabal smiles, and then laughs, breathless with relief and sounding even more pleased that Ajay's alive than Ajay himself. Maybe it's the adrenaline from the gun fight or the panic of the avalanche, but Ajay's insides clench and flutter.

Later, in Banapur, when Sabal is tending to the Golden Path soldier fallen from the bell tower, the words _I'll go_ tumble out of Ajay's mouth and he has no intention of stopping them. It's the least he can do for someone who's saved his life twice already. As he leaves, Sabal's eyes follow him out of the room, despite the fact that he's holding down a wounded man, and Ajay's stomach jumps again.

(He liberates the tower without a hitch, and Sabal's words of praise over the radio make him grip his bow a little tighter, walk back to the next mission a little faster, because he wants to hear the pride in Sabal's voice again.)

He can't tell when it stopped just being about needing to scatter his mother's ashes, and became about wanting to please Sabal and not wanting to disappoint Amita. It's lost somewhere between the surety of Sabal's touch on his arm and the steel of Amita's eyes.

  


* * *

  


After Durgesh, Ajay wakes up to weak limbs, a room he doesn't recognise, and Sabal kneeling at the foot of his bed. Sabal's eyes are closed and his hands are clasped together in his lap, deep in prayer. However, the moment he hears Ajay's voice, he focuses his full attention on him, the exhaustion in his movements replaced with a relieved ease. When he stands up, it's with a difficulty that suggests he's been there longer than comfortable. He stretches minutely, and Ajay sees the bone-weary man behind the passionate, driven freedom fighter, but only for a moment. And only, it seems to him, because Sabal allowed it. 

It took a week to find him, Sabal says, but the will of Kyra made it so. Ajay surviving is good for the cause, Sabal says and laughs, and it's the first time Ajay has seen him laugh since the avalanche. Sabal squeezes Ajay's shoulder, thumb brushing over his collarbone, and smiles at him. His eyes are welcoming, piercing, and green, and Ajay's breath catches in his throat.

"I'll always have your back, brother," Sabal says, and the only thing that prevents Ajay from doing something really stupid is that Sabal walks away, no doubt to let him recover for a while longer.

His mother's ashes are next to the bed. Ajay holds them close for a moment, just to make sure that she's still there.

"I'll take you to Lakshmana soon, Mom," he says. "I promise."

He sets the urn on a shelf, and climbs down the ladder to the ground floor, still on wobbly legs. Then he sees the unfinished thangka hanging in the frame and his thoughts focus enough to recognise that he's in Guru Ashram, in his parents' house, and he's alone. 

The night winds blow through the gap under the front door. When Ajay walks outside, it's into a misty and dull rain that moistens his hair and wakes him up better than a hot cup of coffee could. He tries to stretch to ease the tension out of his aching shoulders, but the bruises on his back make moving even one extra muscle too painful to consider. _That's what you get for tobogganing down the side of a mountain,_ he thinks.

The fine rain sprays Ajay's cheeks as the wind changes, bringing the smell of cigarette smoke with it. Only then does Ajay notice that Sabal hasn't left. He can see Sabal's outline in the sickly, weak moonlight. Sabal is leaning against one of the beams supporting the upper floor. He takes a drag on his dog end, the glow of burning tobacco lighting up the contours of his face. He's so quiet and still that if the wind hadn't changed, Ajay wouldn't have been able to notice him at all.

"Sabal."

Sabal lets the cigarette fall from his fingers. He stubs it out with his toe. "What is it, brother?"

"How long was I out?"

"Three days," says Sabal, his voice clear in the stillness of the night. 

_You prayed at my bedside for three days?_ Ajay bites back the question. Of course he did. Sabal had prayed for a whole week while looking for Ajay up in the mountains, so what's another three days to someone with his faith?

"Thank you," Ajay says instead, but of course it isn't enough. It's just _words,_ and he was never good with those. Sabal will just repeat that it's thanks to Kyra, not to him, and while Ajay isn't ready to entirely rule out divine providence, Kyra is not the one he's looking to express his gratitude to.

He leans in. He doesn't have to lean far, because there's never much distance between them. And he kisses Sabal, like he's wanted to since Sabal smiled at him after pulling him out of the avalanche. Ajay's chest is tight and his heart is hammering like he's back under the snow in the eternal second that it takes for Sabal to react. 

Ajay has thought a lot about kissing Sabal, once or twice even with a hand around his cock when he managed to grab a moment of privacy, but this is very far from how he imagined it. Sabal stands as solid and unmoving as a rock at first, and then something seems to give. His shoulders relax, and Ajay feels his lips parting against his own. Sabal's stubble scrapes against Ajay's chin and his tongue is suddenly in Ajay's mouth, warm and slick. He tastes of cigarettes, and he's slow and gentle where Ajay imagined him to be urgent and dominant. He expected teeth and gasping – instead, Sabal kisses with soft lips and utter, utter focus that leaves Ajay wishing he'd tried this sooner.

He has to touch him. Ajay's hand goes to Sabal's face, and he regrets that he still has his gloves on and can't feel Sabal's skin under his fingertips. He cups Sabal's face, thumb brushing over a cheekbone, and Sabal leans in _just right_ – and then he breaks the kiss. It catches Ajay so off guard that his lips skim across Sabal's moustache before he registers what's happened.

"What— shit, is this not—is this wrong?" Ajay says. He's breathing a bit more quickly than he expected. He takes a quick step away from Sabal, giving him space. "Sabal?" _I could have died,_ he doesn't say. 

"No, Ajay," says Sabal. Ajay's eyes dart from his hands, to his lips, to his eyes. He can't read him. He can't tell if the lines between Sabal's eyebrows are a frown or a trick of the light. 

In one fluid movement, Sabal stands up straight, no longer leaning against the beam. Ajay is about to move away and take a step to the side because obviously he's fucked this one up, he's completely misinterpreted the situation, but then Sabal's hand is on his shoulder again, squeezing it in a way that's comfortingly familiar, grounding him, making his heart beat a little less hysterically. 

Sabal leans in, and Ajay closes his eyes instinctively, his lips parting. Their lips are almost touching, so close that Ajay can swear he feels Sabal's breath on his teeth. He doesn't dare move, knowing full well he's not the one in control of the situation. 

"You're doing very well," says Sabal.

 _Please let me touch you,_ Ajay doesn't say. He opens his eyes again as he feels Sabal move away. A corner of Sabal's mouth twists upwards for just a moment, and if Ajay wasn't looking at his lips, totally captivated, he would have missed it.

Sabal's face is neutral again as he says, "You should get some rest. I'll want to see you in the morning."

When Sabal is gone, Ajay goes back into the house, closes the door behind him, and leans against it. He stands there for a while, just breathing, as the rain outside turns from a drizzle into a shower. He can hear the raindrops patter on the roof, pelt the ground. He can hear his heart slowing down to a normal rhythm.

  


* * *

  


Ajay drives into the village the next morning on the heels of the sunrise, bleary-eyed and yawning. He stops at the door to the house where he usually finds Sabal, his stomach in knots. And then he realises he's being entirely stupid – he's fought off rabid honey badgers and snow leopards, he can handle seeing Sabal the morning after. _The morning after what, idiot,_ he chastises himself, and pushes the door open.

The house smells good – even better, it smells like breakfast, like turmeric and ginger and all the smells that Ajay recognises from his mother's kitchen. Those kinds of smells used to be a delicious comfort, and then a source of shame when the white kids in school held their noses and pretended to gag as he passed, even though Ajay could never smell anything strange. The shame went away, eventually, after he punched Brian Feingold during recess and his mother got an exhaust fan installed, and after he made himself pronounce his name the way all his white teachers pronounced it. 

A cheerful "Namaste, Ajay!" backs him out of Memory Lane and returns him to the present. There's a portable stove on the same table that was full of scrawled field reports and detailed topographical maps the last time he was here, ten days ago.

The person who greets him is an old woman Ajay has seen around, but never talked to because she doesn't appear to know a world of English, and the only thing Ajay can say in Nepali without embarrassing himself has already been covered in the conversation. The source of the smell is a tall pot into which the old woman dips a tin bowl and hands it to Ajay full of piping hot potato curry. The bowl is warm even through his gloves.

"Thank you," he says. The woman nods, and puts two pieces of roti over the top of the bowl, and then makes the universal hand gesture for _run along now, I have work to do._

"Um—" Ajay tries. "I'm supposed to be meeting—" The woman repeats the gesture, this time nodding her head to the screen that separates one part of the house from the other. "Oh, okay," says Ajay. "Thanks." He tries to remember the phrasebook he idly thumbed through on the plane. "धन्यवाद," he offers, probably bungling the pronunciation, but from the gap-toothed grin he gets in return, the effort seems to be appreciated.

He steps behind the screen into the main part of the house. All the windows are thrown open, letting in a breeze that's coming down from the mountains. There's another table surrounded by chairs that have seen better days. All the reports and maps seem to have been moved to it, along with an empty bowl of the same curry Ajay is holding and a thermos flask surrounded by small, shallow bowls, probably for the yak butter tea that everyone here drinks more often than water and almost as often as the Shangri-Lager.

He expects to see Sabal by the table, bent over a map with a slight frown on his face. Instead, there's Amita, leaning on the wall by a window, her arms crossed over her chest, her feet crossed at the ankle. She looks away from the view of the village outside and towards Ajay. He's expecting her to look stern like she often does, but her expression seems softer than usual. 

"Amita, hey," he says in greeting, hoping that he doesn't sound too surprised to see her here instead of Sabal. 

"Good morning, Ajay," she says. "And congratulations. Surviving Yuma's prison and the journey back? I think that officially makes you the luckiest man I know."

"Thanks," says Ajay. "If Sabal hadn't found me—"

"Him?" Amita's laugh is explosive, but there's no humour in her eyes. "Oh, no, don't tell me – he told you that he'd walked through the snow to find you? Ajay," she sighs, "you're smarter than that. You're important to Sabal, but not so important that he would risk his own life for yours. The Golden Path needs a leader, and Sabal would never leave that to a _woman!"_ She spits the last word out. 

"What do you mean?"

"Did you think it was _just_ him?" she asks with narrowed eyes, like she can't believe Ajay could be that naïve. "He sent his supporters to look for you, while he did what he does best. Brooded in a dark room and prayed to dead gods who never listen anyway," she says, sounding like there's only a very thin leash that's holding her back from shouting it, and it's just gotten taut.

"Amita, is everything okay?"

She shakes her head, dismissing his concerns. "Everything's fine, Ajay." She gestures to the bowl in Ajay's hands. "Eat your food."

Behind the screen, Ajay hears the old woman minding the food get up. She lifts the pot with both hands and surprising ease for her age and for something so full of curry, and leaves the house backwards, pushing the door open with her shoulders. Briefly, there are delighted shouts from the soldiers outside glad to see their breakfast, and then the door slips shut. 

The curry is so runny it drips off the roti that Ajay tries his best to pinch it with, and the potatoes are so hot he almost burns his tongue. He eats in silence, except for the noises of the village coming from the outside. One of the workers in the field is humming something, the prayer flags are flapping in the wind and somewhere further away, a yak is grunting. Amita leans past him to get a report off the table written in thickset, sloppy Devanagari script that Ajay has no hope of deciphering this early in the morning. He pushes his chair back to allow her more room, and she nods in thanks before retreating to her place by the window.

As much as Ajay respects Sabal, the fact that every other word out of Sabal's mouth is Mohan's name isn't why he stayed. Amita was the one who said _Your mother would be proud._ Ajay doesn't even know his father and can only guess at his thoughts from his journals and Sabal's adoring, but blinkered words. When it comes to what his mother would think, he is keenly familiar with what made her proud, and more familiar than he would like with what made her disappointed in him. And so he stayed, because he was through with disappointing her, and Amita was the one to say what he'd been thinking for a long time – scattering her ashes was not the only reason his mother sent him to Kyrat.

He gets up and sets the now empty bowl on the chair, popping the last piece of roti into his mouth. Amita is still reading the report, seemingly engrossed in it. She moves away almost instinctively when he gets closer, her body stiffening, her free hand going to cup her elbow. He opens his mouth to say something, but then changes his mind, not wanting to disturb her while she's reading. Amita catches it, though – maybe the change in his posture, maybe the intake of breath – and looks up from the paper and into his face.

 _Where's Sabal?,_ he wants to ask, but no, that would just get her angry. If Sabal urgently wants to see him, he'll get in touch. He probably got caught up in something else, being the leader of the Golden Path as things stand now, anyway – although Ajay is never quite sure how things stand, since even though one of them may be the leader in name, the elephant still has two heads, no matter what he does. 

"I wanted to ask something," he says instead. Sabal can wait. 

"What is it?"

"How do you know Sabal didn't go look for me himself?" he asks. "Because you _did,_ right?" It's a stab in the dark, yes, but he sees the circles around her eyes, and how the way she holds herself a little bit stiffer than normal doesn't have much to do with her usual aloofness. 

She looks away from him briefly, a gesture that would mean embarrassment if it came from anyone else. But no, Amita doesn't show embarrassment. She turns away from him like she'd meant to do it in the first place, walking away from the window. He follows, quiet, careful.

"The Golden Path needs you," she says, replacing the report on the table. "Sabal was right about that, at least." She shuffles the reports around the desk so she can have a better look at the map underneath them. "If I'd found you before they did, maybe things would have been different."

Ajay's voice comes out soft when he speaks. "Amita…"

She turns around, looking defiantly up at him. "You saved Bhadra's life. And the fact that you're fighting with us means that even more people get to see another day. Looking for you was the least I could do in return," she says. "You have a good head on your shoulders, Ajay. I'd like to see it stay there."

Ajay grins. " _You_ would? Not the Golden Path?"

To his surprise, she looks taken aback, like he's managed to peek over those walls she's always building around herself. "You know what I meant," she says. 

Ajay feels reckless, so he pushes it further. "I thought you were very particular with your words," he says. 

On a normal day, or as normal as days in Kyrat can get when you're assassinating Royal Army commanders and going after a fanatical serial killer, Amita intimidates the hell out of Ajay. She's determined, she doesn't take any shit from anyone, least of all Sabal, and although she's almost half Ajay's size, she seems so ferocious that her anger and willpower alone seem to be enough to leave anyone panting in the dirt. There are moments, though, however few and far between they may be, when she shows a completely different side and the storm in her seems to subside, and if Ajay admires her for her strength, he admires her even more when she's willing to show weakness in front of him, because it's not something that seems to come easy to her.

Amita still has a hand on the table, like the conversation is only a passing annoyance she needs to get over with before returning to more important things. Her other hand is on her hip, the way it often is when she talks to Ajay, since almost everything he does seems to displease her in some way. Even when he does something the way she wanted, he still only gets the smallest breadcrumbs for it. _Well done, Ajay, but there's still so much work to be done._

He's aware how close they are standing. He hadn't meant to step that close to her, but she'd turned to talk to him, and now there's barely half a step between them. Amita usually keeps her distance, and there's been plenty of time for her to step as far away from him as she likes, but she hasn't moved. The way she holds herself seems like that may change very quickly. 

Amita frowns. "Ajay—" 

Ajay, still feeling reckless, feeling like he won't get another chance if he doesn't try now, covers the hand that's resting on the map of Kyrat with his. He closes his eyes, his heart thumping too hard in his chest to keep them open, and leans down to kiss her.

He finds her fingers before he finds her lips, and he opens his eyes, confused. Amita's hand is against his lips – not pushing him away, not yet, but applying the slightest pressure to let him know that this isn't what's going to happen. Panicking that he's done the wrong thing, Ajay tries to move away, but her other hands slips from under his and grabs his wrist, making him still immediately. 

"All my life, men had wanted to control me," says Amita, very softly. "My father. My husband. Sabal." Her thumb is right against Ajay's wrist where his sleeve is rolled up, and the fingers of her other hand are still pressed against his lips and chin. She can feel his pulse and his breathing. "I'm not going to let any man try to control me again." She removes her fingers from Ajay's lips, and he allows himself to exhale. "Got that?"

"Yeah," he says. 

"You aren't the one who gets to decide when I speak," she says. She still has her hand around his wrist. "If you're kissing me without my permission, you're shutting me up. I won't allow that to happen. I speak when I want to, not when I'm permitted." Her bright eyes are on his, so sharp she may as well be pushing a khukuri into his stomach. "Tell me you understand what I said, Ajay."

Ajay's breathing is coming quicker, his heart is pounding. His blood is buzzing through his veins. The terror and the adrenaline are like the time he saw a Bengal tiger in the grass before it had spotted him. He'd drawn back the string of his bow and aimed the arrow at its flank, and just then, it had turned around, and it had looked straight at him. It had the same spark in its eyes that Amita has in hers now. Like it could see his guts warm on its claws already. All he needed to do was roll over and let it happen.

"I understand," he says. "I'm sorry." He feels like all he does is make mistakes and apologise for them. 

Amita shakes her head. "Do not assume you know what kind of person I am, Ajay," she says. She lets go of his wrist.

Shame bubbles in his chest as he realises that he already misses the pressure of her fingers against his skin. "I just—"

"You should go," Amita cuts him off. "I'll radio you when I need you," she says, going back to her reports.

She doesn't spare him a second glance as he steps out of the house into another bright, sunny morning. Nearby, he sees a woman kneeling at a statue of Kyra and remembers. It would be good to hear Sabal's voice, anything to distract him from thinking about Amita and the way she grabbed him.

He takes his radio out, and picks out Sabal's frequency. The thing crackles to life. "Sabal?" he says, walking away from the house, pushing the shame deep down, filing it away for later. "You wanted to talk to me?"

" _Ajay, it's good that you called,_ " Sabal's voice comes after a rush of static. " _We've heard that one of Pagan's convoys is in the area…_ "

  


* * *

  


Days later, Ajay finds himself in the Kyra Tea Terraces outpost, returning from a successful afternoon of destroying a propaganda centre with a bag full of loot. He heads towards the safe house, planning to dump all the stuff he doesn't need, restock his ammo and maybe see if anyone has got anything new for him to do. 

There's a Golden Path soldier standing outside the house, smoking a cigarette. Her expression is pained and tired as she exhales the smoke, and it's then that Ajay hears the muffled shouting coming from the other side of the door. It reminds him of the first time he'd overheard them arguing just like this; it reminds him that nothing has changed. 

"Hello, Ajay," the soldier says, sucking on the cigarette like it's the very last thing that's keeping her calm. "They've been at it for a long time. I don't think you want to go in there just yet." 

"I can handle it," says Ajay. He takes the game bag off his shoulder and hands it to her. "Here. See if you can use this meat and pelts somewhere. I'll try to…" He pauses, unsure if they will actually listen to him. But they have to, after Durgesh. After everything. "I'll try to make them keep it down, at least," he says. 

"Good luck," the soldier says, taking the game bag away.

"I'll need it," Ajay tells himself under his voice. He pushes open the door, and Sabal's angry shouting immediately gets louder.

"—a part of our culture and you're shitting on it!"

"You can easily pray anywhere else, Sabal!"

They're arguing about the statues again, as they have done countless times before since Ajay agreed that the leftover gold that Pagan hadn't taken should be melted down and sold. He's heard the argument at least twice before, which means that Amita and Sabal have had it at least twice more than that.

Amita is standing at the table, and Sabal is standing opposite her, next to the cupboard where they keep some of the cloth used for bandages. The way he holds himself, it seems like he was sitting down only recently – something Amita said undoubtedly brought him to his feet.

"All that gold will feed people and put clothes on their backs. It's vaccines, it's medicine," says Amita. "There's a difference between honouring our gods and blindly following tradition!"

"You are blaspheming against Kyra when you say that, you cannot—" 

"Would Kyra rather see her people _starve_ than help feed them?" Amita interrupts him. "Faith is in here, Sabal," she says in a calmer voice, clasping her hands to her chest, "not in a building! Not in statues!"

Ajay stands by the door, bow still in hand, unsure how he should interrupt them, when Sabal looks towards him. "Brother, it's good that you're here," he says. "Once again, Amita refuses to see when she's wrong. This is not what the Golden Path stands for, you know this! You have to see that this must not continue. You are the son of Mohan, and he would not allow for this blatant disrespect of our heritage!"

Amita laughs bitterly. "Oh, really, Sabal? We're back to this again?" She turns to Ajay. "Have you ever wondered why Sabal never mentions your mother? She was just as important in creating the Golden Path. She is the reason you're here. Has he ever said her name?"

Ajay looks to Sabal, but Sabal is silent, glaring daggers at Amita. "It's so _easy_ for you to drink in Sabal's words, isn't it," she says. "He thinks tradition is truth. He thinks making things as they should be means keeping them as they were."

"I'm not here to do what's easy, Amita," says Ajay. He looks from her face to Sabal's, and back. "I'm trying to do what's right."

It used to be just about fulfilling his mother's dying wish. And it still is, but for a long time it has also been about helping Sabal and Amita. It's about helping the Golden Path, too, but Ajay can't distance himself enough from the whole thing to just call it _the cause_ when he knows he's there because of him, and because of her.

"Then do what's right, Ajay," says Sabal in that soft voice of his, so different to the kind of tone he uses when he's angry at Amita. "It's time to choose."

Ajay places his bow down on the table, followed by his gun and his rifle, which makes a dull clunk against the wood. 

Amita sets her hands on the table, fingers spread, and tries to catch his eye. "This has been going on for too long, Ajay," she says. "We have to hit Pagan while he's weak. And we can't do that while _we're_ weak. As long as we are like this, we are weak."

"The elephant can't have two heads, brother," says Sabal. Amita throws him an angry glare over Ajay's shoulder, but, surprisingly, doesn't argue.

"You want me to choose?" says Ajay. "Okay."

There's a lit candle on the table. It has clearly been there for a while, because the wax has dribbled down all around it and stuck it to the wood. The flame is still and strong. Ajay lets his eyes linger on it for a while, before tearing them away.

"Okay," he says again, and turns towards Sabal.

It's getting dark outside, and there's scarcely any light in the house save for the occasional candle and a bare, dusty bulb above the bed. Shadows fall across Sabal's face, the warm, orange glow of candlelight and weak electricity making his scars stand out and his eyes seem darker than usual. The corners of his lips quirk upwards in a brief smile, and he gives Ajay the smallest of nods. He looks glad and hopeful, yes, but there's also a certain dose of smugness in how quick his smile comes and goes, like he'd been expecting this to happen the whole time. Ajay squeezes his hand into a fist, steeling himself.

_Here goes._

"I choose both," he says.

Sabal's eyebrows knot together in anger, but that's all the reaction Ajay sees from him because his hand grasps the back of Sabal's neck, and he presses their mouths together. Sabal exhales in surprise, but he lets it happen, lips opening, letting Ajay's tongue slide against his own. Ajay doesn't let it last long, not nearly long enough as he would like. He pulls away, not missing the way Sabal looks at him, his eyes hard and furious, before he turns to Amita. 

If he thought Sabal looked angry, it's nothing compared to Amita. She looks about ready to grab Ajay's gun from the table and shoot Sabal, or both of them, but there's the same kind of surprise in her face that he saw in Sabal's, except she's not as good at hiding it.

Both of them are caught off guard, he realises. They didn't expect this.

"Amita, look," he says. "I'm sorry for trying to kiss you without asking. It was a shitty thing to do. I'll do whatever you say from now on." 

Amita looks towards Sabal for a moment, who still hasn't moved or said anything. Ajay is looking at Amita, gauging her every reaction, but he can feel Sabal standing behind him, still and rooted, unmoving.

"Whatever I say?" echoes Amita, her eyes moving from Sabal, and back to Ajay. 

"Yeah," he says, barely louder than a breath. It's like he's standing at the edge of a very tall cliff, trying to guess at how deep the drop is, getting ready to jump.

Amita closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She exhales, and when she opens her eyes again, she says, "Okay." She leans against the table, resting her hands behind her. "Kiss him again." 

Ajay turns around to face Sabal, ask him if he's okay with that, but Sabal is already there, a hand on Ajay's shoulder, pulling him closer, kissing him again. It's nothing like the kiss just a moment ago, where Sabal was surprised and Ajay was the one in control. It's more insistent than the kiss in Guru Ashram – Sabal practically surges into it, licking Ajay's lips open, pressing his body against Ajay. He kisses like he wants to steal Ajay's breath away from him, and it's working. Ajay gasps against his lips when they separate.

"Good," says Amita, and the way her voice sounds slightly breathless when she says it goes straight to Ajay's dick. He needs to look at her. He turns his head, but Sabal's hand moves from his shoulder to his neck to keep him from moving any further.

Sabal's beard scratches the side of Ajay's cheek, his lips brushing against Ajay's ear. "Keep still," he says. Instinctively, Ajay freezes. "What do you want to do?" Sabal asks Amita.

Amita laughs. "You suddenly care about what I want?"

"I don't," says Sabal. "But Ajay does." He moves his hand, fingers slipping through the hair on the nape of Ajay's neck. Ajay has to really concentrate not to lean into the touch. "I care about what he wants." 

"Ajay." Amita stands up and takes a step towards them. She stops, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. If Sabal wasn't holding Ajay, and if Ajay dared, he could reach out and touch her hand, her face. "Is this what you want? Tell me."

"Yeah," says Ajay, heart thumping in his throat. "I want—both of you," he says, and he feels more than he hears Sabal's breath catch, just for a moment, "but I won't do anything without your permission."

Amita nods. "This is how it's going to go," she says, taking the zipper of Ajay's jacket between thumb and forefinger. "You do what I tell you, when I tell you, and nothing else." Sabal applies pressure to the back of Ajay's neck, manoeuvring him so that he's facing Amita and his back is leaning against Sabal's chest. "Sabal, you aren't allowed to touch me. If you lay a finger on me, I'll cut it off and feed it to you."

Sabal wraps his arms around Ajay's waist, his fingers meeting on Ajay's belt. He pulls him closer, and _oh my god,_ Ajay thinks, that thing pressing into his ass is definitely, definitely _not_ Sabal's gun. "No problem," he says, and Ajay can feel the rumble of his words against his back. "If I lay a finger on you, I'll cut it off myself."

Amita smiles to herself, like the thought of Sabal cutting his finger off makes her happy, and slides the zipper of Ajay's jacket down, slowly. She opens his jacket and nods at Sabal. He moves his hands away from Ajay's waist and slides the jacket down Ajay's shoulders and off. Amita takes the zipper of his hoodie and starts pulling it down. Sabal doesn't wait for her go ahead this time – he's already pulling the hoodie off Ajay's shoulders before she unzips it all the way. 

"Gloves," says Amita, and Ajay obediently pulls them off, one finger at a time, and gives them to her. She tosses them on the table, where they join the rest of his clothes. Amita unbuttons her puffy vest and slides it off without ceremony, putting it on the back of a chair. He sees that her saree is wrapped around her belt to make it shorter so that it doesn't get in the way. She struggles for a second with the knot, and without thinking, Ajay's fingers fly to help her. 

"I'll do it," he says.

She looks up at him. "An American boy knows how to unwrap a saree?" she says, mockingly. 

"I'm a quick learner," he says. Behind him, there's a chuckle from Sabal and a rustle of fabric as he takes off his jacket.

Amita huffs, but doesn't stop Ajay. The way she's wrapped it so it doesn't slip is more complicated than he thought, but he gets there in the end. He unwraps the saree's entire length and frees the belt from it, revealing Amita's hips and her bare, taut stomach. 

"See?" he says, handing her the saree. "I did it." He wants to run his fingers down her stomach, and then his tongue. He wants to kiss her. He wants her to _let him_ kiss her. 

"Not bad," says Amita. "Sabal, his T-shirt."

"Arms," says Sabal, and Ajay lifts them. His shirt disappears over his head, undoubtedly leaving his hair in a ruffled mess. He doesn't care, however, because Sabal's hand is on his back, skin to skin, and then he's turning around and Sabal is standing there in just his shirt, undone to halfway down his chest, and his eyes are drinking in every plane and contour of Ajay's naked torso. Ajay feels strangely self-conscious all of a sudden, of the scars he gained while in Kyrat, of his posture and how skinny he is in comparison – but Sabal just smiles, the kind of smile that drags up one corner of his lips and makes his eyes light up.

"Look at you," he says fondly. 

"That's all you can do," says Amita, and then her hand is around Ajay's wrist, turning him around to face her again. "You can touch me now. And _you,_ " she says to Sabal, "can watch."

Ajay raises a hand as if to touch her, but then remembers what she said. _You do what I tell you, when I tell you, and nothing else._ "Where?" he asks. 

Amita's mouth spreads into a smile. "Good, you remembered to ask," she says. "Above the waist."

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," she says. "But not on the lips."

Ajay nods. He tentatively puts his hands on the bare skin of her waist, running his fingers gently along her bare skin. He feels her shiver and stiffen. He stops, looking into her eyes, searching her face for signs of discomfort. 

"Cold?"

Amita shakes her head. "Keep going," she says. 

Keeping his hands on her waist, Ajay pulls her closer and goes, stepping close enough that their toes are touching. He bows his head and kisses the curve of her shoulder, her skin warm under his lips. He tugs at the yellow scarf around her neck and it slides off. Instead of setting it aside, Ajay lets it wrap around his fist as he kisses across Amita's shoulder and over the curve of her neck. He moves her hair out of the way, his nose bumping against an earring, and he leaves light kisses up her neck to her ear, enjoying the way the texture of her skin feels against his lips. 

Amita tilts her head away, baring more of her neck to him, but instead he kisses down her jaw, and stops right at the corner of her lips. She's about to chastise him, but he moves away before she can, kissing down her throat and between the dip in her collarbones. He can feel her hands around his waist, and she moves them up the skin of his back, pulling him closer.

Ajay licks across one of her collarbones and to the other side of her neck, moving her braid out of the way and letting it fall down her back. He presses a kiss to the newly exposed skin, and then sucks it past his lips, caressing it with his tongue. The gentle touch of fingers on his back turns into the stab of fingernails as Amita sighs and lets her head fall back. Ajay takes it as a sign that he's doing well, so he goes to cup her breast over her shirt and squeezes it. Amita sighs again, more urgently, and her hand closes over his, keeping it on her breast. He squeezes harder, his other hand still in her hair, kissing her at the point where her collarbone meets her shoulder. 

"Look at him," whispers Amita. Ajay doesn't respond at first, too busy enjoying the taste of Amita's skin, the way she shivers when he gently tugs at it with his teeth. " _Look,_ " Amita repeats, and Ajay stops and turns around. 

Sabal is standing leaning against a cabinet. His hands are on his thighs, fingers clenching and gripping the fabric of his trousers. His mouth is slightly open, and Ajay can see his chest rise and fall with heavy breathing. He looks flushed, and when their eyes meet, his pupils are wide, perhaps because of the feeble light, but more likely because of how he's squirming and struggling to keep his knees apart and not squeeze his legs together, and how he's trying so hard not to put his hands anywhere near his crotch. Ajay looks down, because he can't not do it, and Amita must notice how Sabal's erection is straining against his trousers at the same time that Ajay does, because she laughs with mocking delight.

Before Ajay's brain can catch up with what his body is doing, he's pulling Sabal closer by his shirt and kissing him viciously, the way he thought his imagined version of Sabal would kiss, with a lot of teeth and little breath. Sabal gasps against his mouth and Ajay chases it with his tongue, his hand grabbing Sabal's ponytail, tilting his head to get a better angle for the kiss.

He feels Amita's hands wrapping around his waist. She presses herself against his back, planting a kiss on his shoulder, and then her fingers are undoing his belt and popping open the button on his jeans. She brushes her fingers over his crotch, and then she grabs and squeezes, and Ajay groans into Sabal's mouth.

"The bed," Ajay pants out against Sabal's lips. 

"Ask for it," says Amita, lips on his neck, hand pressing down against his cock. He moves his hips into her touch, unable to help himself even as hot embarrassment washes over him because he shouldn't be getting this hard, not this soon. 

"Can we—" Ajay starts, but then Sabal moves his head and starts kissing the other side of his neck. His teeth scrape against Ajay's skin before he soothes it with his tongue, and Ajay's words die in his throat.

"Sabal," Amita warns, "don't distract him." Her fingers stroke Ajay's chest, brushing over a nipple and making him shiver. "Ajay, you were saying?"

Ajay swallows thickly, trying not to think about how much he wants Sabal to bite and leave a mark on his skin. "Can we move to the bed?" 

They half drag, half push him across the room until he's sitting on the bed with Amita kneeling behind him and Sabal standing in front of him. The bed creaks and fabric rustles as she kicks off her boots and trousers, and then she's back, her thighs bracketing his waist. He doesn't realise she's taken her choli off until she presses against his breastbone to make him lean against her, back to chest, and he feels her warm, naked breasts against his back. 

"Strip him," she tells Sabal. 

Without even arguing, Sabal kneels on the floor between Ajay's legs. He takes off Ajay's shoes for him, one first, then the other, and then the socks. Ajay wants to sit up and reach for him, kiss him again, but as if reading his intentions, Amita's hand squeezes his shoulder, and he stills. 

Still kneeling, Sabal puts his hands on Ajay's knees and then runs them up the inside of his thighs, parting his legs. Ajay fiddles with his belt, sliding it out of the loops and off, and Sabal helps him shimmy out of his jeans, his touches lingering on Ajay's skin as he slides the denim off.

"Come here," says Ajay.

Sabal gets on the bed, one knee between Ajay's legs, and Ajay hand goes to the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He moves his hands to work on the remaining buttons of Sabal's shirt, getting them undone and then sliding the fabric off his shoulders. His fingers coast over strong muscles and old scars. Sabal is built like a boxer, every muscle there for purpose, not just for show, and Ajay doesn't doubt that he could punch him off his feet in a fight and pin him down without much effort, if it came to that. It makes his heart beat that much faster.

Sabal arches into him, making his stomach brush against Ajay's underwear and his erection, and Ajay immediately lifts his hips from the bed, trying to get more friction. Sabal pushes his knee up further, and Ajay grinds down against it, groaning with how good it feels.

"Easy," Amita tells him. Her fingers are drawing circles on Ajay's chest, and every time they brush over a nipple, he feels his breath catch in his throat. "You'll come in your pants if you're not careful." She takes Ajay's nipple between thumb and forefinger and twists it, making Ajay shiver all over. 

"He's been looking forward to this," says Sabal, and moves his knee away from Ajay's crotch only to replace it with his hand. His fingers trace the outline of Ajay's dick, from the base to the tip. It twitches under Sabal's touch, and the smirk Sabal gives him when he feels it is the filthiest expression Ajay has ever seen on his face. "Haven't you, Ajay?"

"Yeah," Ajay admits. He closes his eyes and turns his face away from Sabal because he can feel his cheeks burning, because Sabal is rubbing his dick over his underwear using just his fingertips, and he keeps _looking_ at him, drinking in every change of expression in Ajay's face, every breath that catches in his throat. 

Amita kisses the side of his neck, just where his jaw meets his ear. "Go slow," she tells Sabal, her words warm against Ajay's skin. 

Ajay tries to tell her that she was right, that if they continue like this he'll definitely come too soon. He tries to say that he'd been thinking about them for too long, but he never imagined it to be exactly like this, with the both of them right _here,_ touching him and almost completely naked. He wants to let Amita know that he really, really badly wants to face her again, see her, touch her stomach and her shoulders and her breasts, and maybe kiss her lips if she lets him. 

Nothing comes out, though, except a choked moan, because Amita's hand goes around his throat, pressing but not choking, and she bites into the curve of his shoulder. Her breasts press up against his back as he leans into her. He can feel Sabal's fingertips stroke along his dick, circle the head and go up the shaft, whisper soft, and then his fingers are at the waistband of Ajay's underwear, pushing past it and pulling it slowly down. Ajay swallows, his tongue licking his lips on reflex. He lifts his hips from the bed, eager for Sabal to take his underwear off, _finally,_ because he's had it on for too long. 

Behind him, Amita tenses up and moves, and then Sabal's hands stop what they were doing. "That's not what I told you to do," says Amita.

Ajay opens his eyes, confused. He looks down and sees Amita's hand around one of Sabal's wrists, holding him in place and preventing him from taking Ajay's pants off. 

"I told you," says Amita, her tone quiet, but angry, "to go slow." Her other hand is on Ajay's chest, holding him against her like he belongs to her. And he does, Ajay thinks. At least half of him belongs to her.

Sabal scoffs at her, wrenching his hand away. "I will—"

"You will get off this bed until you learn to do what you're told," says Amita, shoving Sabal's shoulder and actually making him stumble back, not from the force of it, but from surprise. His eyes narrow with indignation. He looks to Ajay for support, and Ajay is about to open his mouth to say something, but then Amita's fingernails dig into his chest. "Stay out of this, Ajay," she says, and he keeps silent. "See? Ajay knows how to stay on my good side," she tells Sabal. "Go," she says, shoving his thigh with her foot. "By the bed."

"Now you're touching him?" asks Ajay, turning his head to speak into her hair while Sabal stands up. 

Amita kisses his temple, smiling against his skin. "Only because he hates it," she whispers. "Actually, I have a better idea," she says, louder, when Sabal is standing by the bed and looking down at the pair of them with his fists clenched and his jaw set. "You will kneel."

" _What?"_

She points to the shrine to Kyra by the foot of the bed, surrounded by softly flickering candles and unlit incense sticks. "Over there," she says. Sabal doesn't even turn his head – Ajay has no doubt that he knows exactly what she's pointing at, and he sees Sabal's furious scowl and the way the colour is high in his cheeks, even in the thin light of the candles. 

"No," he says, voice deep with loathing.

"Yes," says Amita. "If you don't, you're never touching Ajay again."

"Are you hearing this?" Sabal says to Ajay. "You're letting her speak like this?"

"Amita can speak however she wants to," says Ajay. "Do what she says."

"On your knees," says Amita. She pulls Ajay closer, making him sit up a bit, and hooks her chin on his shoulder.

Sabal closes his eyes and sighs. "Kyra, forgive me," he whispers, but he does as Amita says. He gets down on his knees, keeping his face turned away from the shrine.

"Spread your legs," Amita instructs him. "As far as they go. Hands on your knees. Keep your eyes on us." Her fingers circle ever downward, past Ajay's bellybutton, and coast over the waistband of his pants. "You know that knife we keep under the fabrics by the headboard? If your hand comes near your dick, I'll throw it." 

Sabal does as she says, spreading his legs wide and gripping his knees with his hands. The look he gives Amita is saying that he'd very much like to be within reach of the knife she mentioned and drive it into her chest. 

"What a surprise," says Amita, her fingers sliding over Ajay's underwear, just shy of his dick. "He listens after all." Her fingers continue down, dipping between his legs, idly brushing the hairs on his thigh, but always keeping their distance from where he wants them the most. 

Amita kisses his neck, her hands moving away from his crotch. "You can turn around now," she says, and moves to give him room. 

Ajay sits up, feeling her shift her weight on the bed with a soft creak of old wood, until she's sitting where the pillow is, knees up and legs spread, watching him. She doesn't have scars like Sabal – her skin is smooth and her breasts are small, her nipples dark and hard. She's still wearing her necklace and her earrings, and when their eyes meet, she looks amused, but not at all self-conscious because he's watching her. 

He moves until he's half kneeling in front of her. He raises a hand, and when she doesn't seem to object or do anything to stop him, he puts it on her ankle, and slides it up her calf to her knee.

"Ajay," she says, and he looks at her, anxious that he's overstepped a line. "Why are you still holding that?" she asks, and her fingers brush over his other hand. He looks down, and realises that he's had her yellow scarf wrapped around his hand ever since he took it off her neck. 

_Because it was warm when I took it off, and it smells like you,_ he doesn't say.

"Can I kiss you?" he says instead. 

Amita touches a hand to her stomach, just above her bellybutton. "Here," she says. Ajay's lips are on the spot before she even has time to move her hand away completely.

She tangles a hand in his hair, pulling his head up. "And here," she says, tapping two fingers to her breast. Ajay kisses the place her fingers touch, and then he shifts so he can lick over the areola and close his mouth around her nipple. He flicks his tongue against it, and then sucks on it. Amita's breath hitches, and her hand finds Ajay's again, putting it on her other breast. He cups it, running his thumb over the nipple. He trails kisses across her chest, circling the nipple with his tongue and scraping his teeth against it gently, just enough to hear Amita's breathing speed up, just so he feels her arch into his mouth.

She tightens her grip on his hair and tugs. He leans into it, following the direction she's pulling in until they're face to face, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath on her lips. She bares her teeth in what's nothing like a smile, and closes them around his lower lip, pulling. Ajay gasps, opening his mouth, and then she's kissing him.

And Amita kisses vicious, her tongue sliding against Ajay's, never letting him be in control even as he puts both hands on her breasts, covering them with his hands, squeezing them and teasing her nipples until she moans into his mouth.

They separate, and she tugs on his lip with his teeth once more, a parting gift. "You're not a bad kisser, Ajay," she says, and he can't stop looking at her lips and how dark they are, wet with spit. _I did that,_ he thinks. Then her hand is at his shoulder, and she's pushing him down. "But you can do better."

Ajay kisses between her breasts and down her sternum to her belly button, enjoying the way her stomach flutters under his lips when she breathes in. He kisses the soft skin just above her underwear. Amita cups his face, the fingers in his hair trying to guide him where she wants him to go. He looks up to see her lips parted with heavy breathing, and her bright eyes darkened with desire. She wets her lips, about to say something, but Ajay doesn't wait for what it's going to be.

He gives her a smirk and bows his head, kissing up her thigh and towards her crotch, careful not to use his teeth or his tongue. He stops short of her underwear, his nose brushing for just a moment against the cotton. She smells amazing, but he doesn't linger.

He moves to her other leg, leaving a trail of kisses from the crease of her knee and up her thigh, caressing the soft skin with his lips until he feels the gentle touch of Amita's fingers in his hair turn into a sharp tug. Ajay smiles against her skin, listening to her laboured breathing. He runs a finger down the side of her underwear, down towards where her thighs meet, and feels her breath catch.

"Ajay," says Amita, "if you don't take my pants off _right now_ —" Her complaint dissolves into a sharp moan as Ajay presses his mouth against her and hums softly, kissing the damp cotton covering her. " _Ajay,_ " Amita repeats, trying to make it sound like a warning, but it comes out as a sigh, and he never wants her to say his name in a different way again.

He slides his hands under her ass, making her move down on the bed until she's lying on her back. His fingers hook under the waistbands of her underwear, and he pulls it down, sliding it off her legs. He looks up, meaning to tell her how gorgeous she is, how just looking at her is making his cock throb in his pants, but Amita shakes her head.

"No more talking," she says, and her fingers are in his hair, pushing him down between her legs. She puts one leg over his shoulder, then another. Ajay lies flat on the bed, his cock trapped between his stomach and the sheets, and swipes his tongue along Amita's folds, tasting her for the first time.

He hears her sharp inhale and feels her thigh muscles jump under his fingers. He presses his tongue against her, licking a thick stripe upwards that makes Amita sigh, and then moan when the tip of his tongue finds her clit and flicks across it once, and again. As soon as he feels her start to tremble under his mouth, he moves away from her clit, licking around it, stroking her folds with his tongue and lapping up her wetness. 

Amita writhes under him, her hips lifting up to meet his mouth, her hand pushing down on his head until she's all he can smell and taste. He raises a hand to her breast, kneading the flesh, pulling at a nipple, at the same time that he pushes his tongue into her entrance.

She's so wet and she tastes so good that he groans, sucking on her flesh, licking into her. He wants nothing but to always taste her on his tongue like this, his lips wet with her, and to hear her moan the way she does when he brushes his thumb across her nipple.

He strokes his fingers down across her ribs, her stomach, and across her thigh, his heartbeat speeding up when she opens her legs further for him. Ajay strokes circles up her inner thigh, his fingers moving closer and closer to her warmth every time, but before he's quite there, Amita's hand caresses his scalp and then she's pulling on his hair, making him sit up on his elbows. 

"Did you change your mind?" he asks, licking his lips.

"What?" Amita's skin is flushed, her nipples peaked. Her lower lip is wet, like she'd been biting on it only moments ago, trying not to cry out. 

"Am I a bad kisser after all?" Just in case, he bows his head again, pressing a short kiss to her labia. Amita laughs, but she still tugs on his hair to make him sit up again.

"It's not that," she says. "It's _that._ " Ajay realises she's looking past his shoulder, and he turns around.

Sabal is still where Amita told him to be, kneeling by the shrine with his legs splayed, his hands on his knees. He glares at the pair of them balefully, but Ajay can see the colour in his cheeks and how his shoulders are rising with laboured breaths. His entire body is tense, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His fingers are digging into his trousers so hard that his knuckles have turned pale. 

"What do you think?" asks Amita. "Should I let him come back?"

Ajay's eyes travel upwards to Sabal's crotch, and he feels his dick throb at the sight of the dark, wet patch on his trousers. He'd mistake it for a trick of the light, a shadow, but when his eyes meet Sabal's and he sees Sabal swallow thickly, Adam's apple prominent, he knows it's not.

He turns back to Amita. "Please."

Amita jerks her chin towards the bed. "Come on, then," she tells Sabal.

"You— you think you can just order me around? You expect me to do whatever you want?" Sabal snarls, but his voice is hoarse and he jerks his body almost imperceptibly towards the bed, like only sheer willpower and spite is keeping him where he is. 

"Is that a tantrum, Sabal?" Amita says, snorting a derisive laugh. She sits up, her legs sliding down from Ajay's shoulders, suddenly serious. "I want to see you fuck him." She strokes Ajay's face as she says it, and he leans into her touch by pure instinct, eliciting a gentle smile from her. "And I want to feel him come with his face buried in my cunt."

Ajay turns his head and kisses the heel of her palm, closing his eyes and concentrating on his breathing, on her fingers against his cheek, the coarse sheets under his stomach, anything but what Amita just said because her words are pushing him dangerously close to the edge, and coming in his pants isn't how he wants this night to end. 

He realises Amita's been saying his name, trying to get his attention. He opens his eyes, focusing on her face. "Ajay, are you okay with that?" she says again.

"Yeah," he says, surprised into a breathless, giddy laugh. "Shit, yeah."

Sabal gets to his feet then and pulls open a drawer, taking out a small bottle of lube and condoms. There's an urgency about him as he kicks off his shoes, fingers almost shaking while he unbuttons his trousers and takes them off, sucking his breath in through his teeth when he pulls them down over his erection. But then he's on the bed with them, and all his movements are slow again, deliberately so as he pulls Ajay up into a kneeling position. He kisses him, one hand on the small of his back and the other on the nape of Ajay's neck, and keeps kissing him, licking around his lips and into his mouth until Ajay can no longer taste even a trace of Amita.

Ajay strokes a hand down Sabal's chest, his fingers reverently tracing each scar until they're above the line of his underwear. Sabal radiates heat, his skin almost burning under Ajay's fingertips. He swipes the pad of his thumb over the clothed head of Sabal's cock, the cotton damp with precome, and Sabal groans, actually _groans,_ a quiet, deep sound in his throat that Ajay captures with a kiss, muting the noise with his mouth. 

He hooks his thumb under the elastic of Sabal's underwear, pulling it down just a bit, just enough for Sabal to feel the drag of it on his over-sensitive cock. 

"Let me," he says. Sabal just nods, and Ajay doesn't need any more encouragement than that. He helps Sabal out of his underwear and then, fed up with waiting, takes his own off and kicks it to the floor, deciding to worry about it later. 

And then they're naked, all three of them, in this poky little house on a bed that's probably older than Ajay and creaks with every movement, and Ajay doesn't even _want_ to process how strange this is, how strange everything that's led him to this moment has been, because at this point it's hard to remember a time when he didn't want this, and he doesn't want to waste his time on introspection. Not now, when Sabal is sitting in front of him with his cock hard and thick, a bead of precome on the head. Ajay reaches out and wraps his hand around it, swiping the precome off with his thumb and starts to stroke Sabal very slowly, gauging his reactions. 

Sabal thrusts into his hand almost immediately, and Ajay strokes down, squeezing his fingers together at the base of Sabal's cock. He kisses at the corner of Sabal's lips, at the hinge of his jaw.

"I really want you to fuck me," he whispers in Sabal's ear as he twists his wrist, stroking up Sabal's cock enough to make him buck his hips into Ajay's touch. He's always felt like Sabal was the one in control every time they interacted, like he was merely dancing to Sabal's tune. He doesn't feel like that now, not now that every touch, every kiss makes Sabal so responsive. He tugs on Sabal's earlobe with his teeth, letting go of it and soothing it with his tongue when Sabal moans. "Have you done this before?"

Sabal chuckles, like the question is ridiculous. The upper hand Ajay thought he had disappears when he feels Sabal pull him closer until his cock rubs against the underside of Sabal's, the head of it touching Sabal's balls and surprising Ajay so much he falters in his strokes, fingers suddenly clumsy. 

"You thought I hadn't?" asks Sabal. His hand is around Ajay's cock now, his thumb pressing down on each upward stroke. Every time he reaches the head, his fingers gather more precome, and Ajay hadn't even realised how much there was, how hard he's been, until Sabal's hand is sticky with it.

" _Fuck_ —" Ajay swears, holding onto Sabal because he feels like if he doesn't, he'll collapse. "No, stop—" he says, and Sabal does, immediately removing his hand from Ajay's dick and letting it rest on his hipbone. 

Sabal gently pecks Ajay's lips, and when he looks at him, his eyes are as big and green as they ever were, and there's a softness in them that makes something in Ajay's chest clench. "Is this alright, Ajay?" he asks, trying to catch his eyes. "Did you do this before?"

"Once or twice," says Ajay. "I just..." He looks away, focusing on the grey wall behind Sabal so he doesn't have to look at his face, because it's easier to say it like that. "I don't want to come like this," he says. "I want to do it like Amita said, and you're..." He looks _anywhere,_ absolutely anywhere but Sabal's face — the bedspread, the floor, the bales of fabric.

"You're very distracting," he says finally, remembering Amita's words from earlier and smiling despite himself.

When he manages to look back to Sabal, his smile is mirroring Ajay's own. 

"Huh, that's one word for what he is," says Amita, and then she's grabbing hold of Ajay's wrist, gently pulling him towards her. She laces their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his. "Well, Ajay?" she says, eyebrows raised. "Are you going to finish what you started?"

Instead of answering, he brings her hand to his lips and kisses the inside of her wrist. Amita lies back, letting him kiss down her chest again. He knows exactly what to do this time. He sucks a nipple past his teeth, pinching the other one between his fingers and twisting it until she groans with pleasure. He kisses down her stomach, and then nips at her thighs, licking up towards her cunt until his mouth is on her wetness again. He parts her folds with his tongue, opening her up with short, swift licks that get closer to her clit every time. 

He risks a look up to see Amita looking at him with half-lidded eyes. She strokes his face, fingers carding through his hair. "Good," she says softly. Ajay rubs her clit with his tongue, and her eyes close all the way, her mouth spreading into a smile.

Sabal's fingers slide along the small of Ajay's back, down his hip and the side of his thigh. He places his warm hand on Ajay's ass, thumb resting against the cleft, and then the touch is gone. When his hand comes back again, his fingers are wet and they slide easily where they need to. One at first, and then after Ajay hums his approval, making Amita groan above him, another. And then Sabal does _something,_ moves his fingers in a certain way that makes Ajay moan right against Amita's cunt, and he has to stop just to catch his breath, nuzzling his face against her inner thigh.

"It sounds like he's ready," says Amita. Ajay kisses her thigh apologetically. He can feel Sabal's fingers withdraw, and then the heat of Sabal's body as he bends over him and presses a kiss on Ajay's back. 

"Been ready for a while," breathes Ajay, and it's not a lie by any stretch of the imagination — his cock is leaking precome on the fucking _sheets,_ and he can't remember the last time that's happened. He aches to touch himself to relieve at least some of the pressure, but he can't. Amita didn't say he could. 

He wants to say something else while he's got his breath back, but then he feels the head of Sabal's cock rub against his hole, and he forgets all his words entirely as Sabal pushes his cock all the way in, as slow as he can, letting Ajay adjust to the stretch.

"You look gorgeous like this," says Sabal. His hands are on Ajay again, stroking soothing circles on his back. And it's incredible how good it feels, Sabal's cock inside him like this, filling him up perfectly. 

"Please, just fuck me," says Ajay. "I'm not gonna last." His last word ends on a groan because Sabal has finally started moving. He starts out with small thrusts, but Ajay is feeling so overstimulated already that he can't help the moans that spill from his mouth. 

"Don't let him come until I do," he hears Amita tell Sabal. She says something else, but Ajay doesn't catch the rest of it. He doesn't want to. He wants nothing more than to please her. He sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, coating them with spit. Amita is so wet she easily takes one of his fingers inside her. He licks around it and starts pushing it in, trying to match his rhythm to Sabal's thrusts. She groans when he crooks his finger, and he adds another, feeling her clench around him and push down on his hand. 

Sabal starts fucking him in earnest, pulling almost all the way out and then thrusting back in. Ajay rocks back, trying to meet his thrusts and fuck himself against Sabal's cock. Then Sabal's hand is on Ajay's shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh, thumb on the back of his neck. He tightens his grip as he thrusts, and Ajay knows he won't be able to think of anything else the next time Sabal touches his shoulder, nothing but this — Sabal fucking into him, his balls slapping against Ajay's ass, his other hand on Ajay's hip, gripping hard enough to bruise.

Ajay pumps his fingers inside of Amita, scissoring them when he can. He closes his lips around her clit and sucks on the sensitive nub, making her arch forwards off the bed. He moves his free hand to her breast again, where he finds that she's already touching herself, pinching her nipples until she's groaning loudly. It sounds like could be his name, but it could be anything. He flicks his tongue against her clit as he keeps moving his fingers, and Amita rocks her hips down, grinding against Ajay's mouth and his hand. 

He thrusts his fingers faster, slippery with her wetness, and curls his tongue around her clit as she falls apart completely under his touches. She bends forward, almost sitting up, her hand viciously pulling at her nipple, and she groans so loudly it's almost a scream. Ajay feels her walls clamp around his fingers as she comes. He takes his fingers out and replaces them with his tongue, pushing inside her and licking her through her orgasm, not wanting to miss a drop. Amita keeps moaning loudly, gasping for air as her body twitches every time Ajay's tongue passes over her clit.

Another couple of thrusts from Sabal and Ajay feels the pressure building up and then his orgasm hits him, his body going taut as Sabal's cock grazes his prostate and he's coming on the sheets with nobody having touched him. He moans loudly, his mouth still on Amita's cunt, and he feels Sabal lean over him and grab his cock, stroking close to the head and squeezing out the last drops of come. 

Ajay's thighs are trembling as Sabal pulls out, leaving him empty. For a moment he thinks Sabal is going to thrust back in and keep fucking him until he comes, but then he hears the condom being pulled off, despite the deafening rush of blood in his ears and Amita's heavy breathing. Sabal groans, and then Ajay feels his warm come hit his ass and the small of his back as Sabal jerks himself off to orgasm, and _fuck,_ Ajay thinks, if he could get hard again this quickly, it would be from being marked like this. 

"Enough, enough," breathes Amita, grabbing Ajay by the hair and pulling him away from her cunt. Ajay sits heavily on the bed next to her, heart thumping, skin buzzing with leftover adrenaline. He leans against the shuttered window, the wood digging into his back. 

"Hey," Amita says gently, reaching for his hand. He takes it, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Sabal is on his other side, and when his hand goes around Ajay's waist, Ajay leans into him, closing his eyes. He takes Ajay's free hand in his, kissing the back of it and the knuckles, and then each finger in turn, licking away Amita's arousal. He moves his lips to Ajay's shoulder, and then the line of his jaw and the corner of his mouth, his tongue erasing any traces of Amita, leaving Ajay's chin and lips wet his spit instead. 

"You did well," whispers Sabal when he's done.

The bed creaks as Amita sits up, taking Ajay's hand in both of hers. "Very well," she agrees. She kisses his temple and smooths his hair, her fingers gentle against Ajay's scalp. She shifts away again, like she's planning to get up. On his other side, Sabal moves too, reaching for his clothes. 

Ajay opens his eyes, grabbing Sabal's forearm and tightening his grip on Amita's hand. They look back at him, their faces wearing an almost identical expression. _What?_ it seems to say. _Were you expecting something?_

"Stay," says Ajay. "Just for a while."

Sabal's smile is disarming. Amita's is subtle, but it melts her frown away. Ajay takes Amita's yellow scarf from around his hand, kissing the fabric.

And they stay. Just for a while.

  


* * *

  


It's a couple of days later when Yogi and Reggie offer him a joint: a big one, delicate and thin at the bottom, fat and wide at the top, like the world's most fun carrot and the world's worst idea at the same time.

Ajay's life in Kyrat has been nothing if not a string of bad ideas, so he takes it. He takes it, but he makes sure his gun is still where he can reach for it, and that there aren't any syringes where he can see them, and especially where he can't. Their experiments seem to be suspended, at least for tonight, and they seem much more interested in the joint than any kind of chemical concoction they could stab into Ajay's softer spots.

"It's puff, puff, pass, alright, mate?" says Reggie. He puts the huge thing to his lips and lights up, wasting no time and taking two long tokes. He passes it to Ajay, holding it neatly between thumb and forefinger. "So, what is it with you and the fucking Golden Path, then, eh?"

Ajay decides it's probably a better idea not to say anything: or, if he does say something, to wait at least until the joint's gone round once before he says something he'll undoubtedly regret. He takes a drag until his cheeks hollow, letting the smoke fill his lungs.

"More like, him and _fucking_ the Golden Path, right?" says Yogi, and Ajay chokes on the smoke and starts coughing. He drops the joint, but Yogi grabs it before it can burn his jeans.

"Oi! Don’t drop it, it's perfectly rolled!"

"What the fuck, Donald?" Reggie says over Ajay's coughing.

Trying to thump his chest to get the smoke out, tears streaming from his eyes, Ajay hears Yogi's high-pitched, indignant whine: "What? It ain't a Brighton Rock if you don't get it wet! Good on 'im, that's what I say!"

Ajay gets to his feet, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm. The pair of them are looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and yes, a bit of apprehension, since they probably saw the gun at his hip. Yogi takes the opportunity to sneak a quick puff of the joint. 

Reggie offers him a wide grin. "Mate–"

"We," says Ajay, "are never doing this again."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to all my friends who helped this fic along, especially [ghostydog](http://ghostydog.tumblr.com/) and [blacktofade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade).


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